Reality
by El loopy
Summary: 'What annoyed her most was that he had been right all along'. Sylaire. Oneshot. Sequel to my other story 'Pretending'


**A/N: This is a sequel to my story 'Pretending' and set some years afterwards, so you would probably want to read that one first as it follows the same themes.  
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Reality

_What annoyed her the most was that he was right._

The house-party wasn't really her scene. She would have to watch everyone drink themselves into oblivion whilst she remained standing alone. She had come with a couple of college friends. She had been thinking that another degree would give her something to do. Tonight though she needed something much more fundamental than studying, something she knew she was unlikely to find.

A drink was thrust into her hand and she tossed it back before running a finger lightly around the rim of the glass. That had definitely been spiked. She shrugged and put it down, following her friends into the main room where there was dancing. A lad grabbed her arm and leered but she just shrugged him off, eyes wandering aimlessly over the room…and then settled…frozen to the spot. A college-aged boy was staring straight at her from the other side of the room. Tall and slim with dark hair and eyes deep enough to drown in. She didn't know him…but she did. She knew him so well and she hadn't thought she would see him again, not for a long time, certainly not tonight.

Claire quickly looked away and took a deep breath. Her stomach was tight. Her heart fluttering. She was annoyed. Could he tell when she was venerable or something? To just show up when she really needed him.

_Because, of course, he had been right. He had been right all along._

"Dance with me?" a voice asked from behind her. The boy she had stared at had come over. She momentarily hesitated struck by his appearance, before smiling reluctantly and shrugging. "Sure, why not?" Yet behind the façade her insides churned and she wondered if he could see. He took her hand and led her onto the floor, pulling her close to himself. He danced with her, moved her, and manipulated her. She didn't grow tired and neither did he. The more they both drank the more he began to touch her; an arm around her waist or on her stomach, dancing so they touched. She was acting the part of the alcohol. She wondered if he were too.

The evening wore on and there were more than a couple of unconscious bodies, more than a few entangled on sofas and in corners. They stayed dancing. She didn't want to talk and hear the meaningless words, in one ear and out the other, yet she didn't really just want human contact either. What Claire needed was deeper, much deeper, and no human would understand.

Unexpected hopelessness washed over her. She had had enough.

"Come with me," she urged and grabbing his hand she dragged him out the main room, into the hall, into the garden, where she pressed him to the wall and kissed him…but that still wasn't what she needed.

The night air was balmy and they were in the shadows. No one could see them clearly. Claire stopped kissing the boy. It felt incomplete and strange. Sighing she stepped away and leaned next to him.

"If you could have one wish tonight," she whispered sadly, eyes pointed at the sky, voice laden with disappointment, "what would it be?"

The answer came almost immediately, as though he had expected the question, "to kiss you again."

Claire gave her signature 'typical' laugh and rolled her eyes. "You can kiss me again," she told him and he eagerly stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her, "if…" she continued and he paused, "you grant _my_ wish." He grinned at her and leant closer.

"What is it?" he whispered in her ear.

_She hated him being right but tonight she needed something more substantial than her pride._

The risk was that she may be imagining the whole thing. She may be imagining the familiar eyes with that familiar look; predatory and longing. After so long though, she knew that she was not mistaken.

Claire pushed him back slightly so that she could look him straight in the eye. Every noise dimmed to almost silence, waiting.

"Change back," she said seriously.

The boy relaxed his grip slightly, a puzzled look on his face.

"Sorry?"

Claire rolled her eyes and gave a short half laugh. "Of course. You won't make it easy for me to admit I was wrong will you?"

The lad gave a nervous laugh. "I'm not sure what you're talking about Claire."

Frustration overwhelmed her as the loneliness deepened and she was desperate for him to understand. "I don't _want_ this fake body," she hissed in exasperation. "I want the real one. _Yours._"

The lad let her go. "This is weird Claire. You're being weird." He began to turn away. "I think I should go."

"Oh yeah," Claire gritted her teeth furiously as he began to walk away. "Just make me think I'm crazy. You complete _jerk_!" She caught him up and shoved him hard in the back. The guy stumbled with a yelp and righted himself, spinning to face her.

"What the _hell_ is your problem?"

"My problem?" Claire shouted back. "My problem is that I want to be held by someone who isn't slowly dying every second in my arms. What the hell is yours?"

Both faced off opposite each other in the garden, bodies tensed, air crackling with anger.

_It was one thing to admit she was wrong and something entirely different to admit he was right._

Claire was the first to step down. Her shoulders relaxed and she felt despair wash over her. "You know what," she whispered in a bitter voice, "fine." Tears pricked at the back of her eyes but she pushed them away. "Leave." She stood solid, feet planted in the ground as her throat closed up and it was hard to speak. She glared at him angrily. "You just don't get it do you?" His eyes never left her own as she forced each word out. "I needed you tonight. Wanted you. _You_ Sylar. No one else is necessary."

His face was an emotionless slate, wreathed in shadows and Claire hesitated for a split second, giving him an opportunity to speak, before turning away. She felt the lad's eyes stay on her as she strode off down the garden. She planned to regain her composure, find her friends and drive them home.

It was only a few steps in that she hit a warm body and arms snaked around her waist.

"You want me," came Sylar's triumphant voice in her ear. "You _need_ me."

Claire shivered under his touch. "Yes."

His eyes bored into hers. The same eyes she'd been looking into all evening.

"So I was right," he smirked. Claire said nothing, she just stared back. She couldn't believe what she was doing but he felt right, solid, and unmoveable and he was holding her with a firm possessiveness. Rough hands had found some soft, exposed skin and were gently, teasingly caressing it.

"Well Claire?" he prompted with a faux innocence. Strands of hair slipped and hung over his eyes. Without thinking Claire brushed it back and ran her palm curiously over his cheek. To her surprise Sylar shut his eyes, savouring it.

"Sylar…"

His eyes opened and drowned her.

"Claire," came the response…and she tilted towards him, hesitating suddenly. In a heartbeat Sylar covered the remaining distance and pressed his mouth to her own. Sweet and passionate and soft and real, oh so real, for the first time. So real she gasped and clung to him until they had to breathe.

"Why the hell did you wait so long to do that?" Sylar growled, forehead against her own.

"Can't quite remember," she murmured back and kissed him again, holding on tightly.

_His words had followed her since that day, so long ago, when he had hissed them in a promise. "You _will_ want me Claire. Sooner or later. You _will._"_


End file.
